“Why would I want a man like that? We’re nothing alike.”
“I don’t know.” A smile played around Philippa’s face, and she plucked a weed or two from the ground. “Why do you want him?”
“What makes you think I want him?”
“I’m the one who chased the curious from the door of your accounting room.”
Alisoun framed a tart response, then discarded it. This was Philippa, after all. She could tell her the truth. “He’s awful. He laughs at customs, and at protocol that is right and proper.”
“You’re still angry because he went out to the kitchen and cajoled the cook into putting those live frogs in the pie shell so when you opened it they all jumped out and you screamed.”
“Nay, that’s not the bad thing.” Alisoun wiped her hand on her apron. “I wanted to laugh.”
Philippa did laugh. “There’s hope for you, Alisoun.”
“He’s an evil influence on me.” Philippa just grinned and shook her head, and Alisoun tried to impress the dire results of his personality on her. “One evening I sat and spoke with him for the pleasure of his company, and I didn’t even busy myself with needlework.”
“One evening,” Philippa mocked.
“But once a person starts the slide down the winding road of sloth, she’ll find it hard to claw her way back to the straight and narrow way.”
“Do you have to quote Lady Frances to me always?” Philippa complained.
“She was the lady who fostered us!”
“She was a mean old woman who sucked the joy from life.”
“I didn’t know you felt that way. I am shocked.”
Philippa flung her little pile of weeds at Alisoun, scattering them across the herbs. “Nay, you’re not. You always thought that, too. You just never dared to admit it.”
Alisoun withered like the uprooted lemon balm. “I am wicked. Do you know that when Sir David makes fun of the king for being so pompous, it’s as if he saw into my mind and plucked my own thoughts before I had given them birth?”
“It’s when he does that imitation of Sir Walter that I can scarcely contain myself.”
“And Sir Walter doesn’t even realize it’s him.”
The women looked at each other and burst out laughing.
Alisoun grew ashamed, sobered, and bent to her work again. “Do you realize that when he kisses me, I forget my duties?”
Philippa gurgled with what sounded like laughter, but when Alisoun looked at her she bent her head to the ground.
“My organization has suffered since he came, and when he—” The heel of his hand had brought her such strange feelings, but she couldn’t bring herself to say that. “When Sir David applied physical manipulations to my skin, I almost lost control.”
“Almost?”
“I did lose control.”
“No wonder he’s a legend,” Philippa said reverently.
Shocked, Alisoun said, “Sir David is just as bad an influence on you as he is on me. You’ve never spoken this way before, and you certainly never suggested I should give birth without benefit of marriage.”
“It’s not Sir David who makes me say these things. It’s living and thinking and doing everything that was proper and godly all my life, and then finding that my reward is exile and a life of fear.” Philippa crushed some of the marjoram leaves in her hand and lifted them to her nose. “Marjoram for happiness. I want you to be happy.”
In an odd sort of way, Philippa’s suggestion began to make sense, and Alisoun feared it was because she, too, had considered bedding Sir David. Still she argued aloud. “He’s not as noble as I am, and he’s certainly not as rich.”
“All the men who are noble and rich enough for you are old, disgusting creatures.” Philippa plucked a few weeds from amongst the balm.
“Marriage is not for enjoyment.”
“I know.”
Alisoun wished she hadn’t said that. Now Philippa pulled weeds with a vengeance, and a frown puckered her brow. But the words couldn’t be called back, so Alisoun added, “And the king would be angry.”
“Once the deed is done, he’d resign himself, wouldn’t he? It wouldn’t be the first time. Anyway, if it’s not marriage you want, then fine. I understand that. But you need a babe.”
“Why?” The kitten stalked through the row of parsley to pounce on one sprig which apparently taunted it.
“To inherit your lands.”
Alisoun lifted the kitten free of the green forest before it ruined Tochi’s best plants. “That’s why you think I need a babe?”
A ghost smile touched Philippa’s lips. “I think you just need a babe to love.”
“I have this stupid, skinny, sharp-toothed kitten.” Who clung like a burr as it climbed her bosom to stand on her shoulder, and who purred in her ear and rubbed its face against her cheek.
“That cat’s not going to do it. Nothing makes you a real person like your own infant to care for, plan for. All the thinking in the world doesn’t replace the excitement of holding your child for the first time, and when I look at Hazel—” Philippa stroked the baby’s bald head, then wiped at the dirty streaks with her sleeve, “—it makes my insides squeeze all funny.”
“That’s attractive.”
“I don’t know how to describe it. You were always the clever one. All I know is if someone hurt Hazel—” Philippa’s face lost expression and her eyes grew cold, “—I would kill him.”
Startled, Alisoun stared at her gentle friend. She didn’t know Philippa as well as she thought. Or else what Philippa said was true. Having a child changed a woman in some basic way. “Do you think I’d be a good mother?”
“If you’re going to embark on this course, I would advise planning on more than one child. You’d be obsessive about a single babe, I think, and smother it with care. Two children would distract you and you’d not ruin the one.”
“You know this, do you? You with the one?”
“I’d have ten if I could. You know that.”
Alisoun laughed lightly, trying to pretend she’d been joking, when in fact the plan sounded more and more reasonable. “This is a ridiculous conversation. Advising me to have a bastard is a stupid idea. I don’t know why I listen to you.”
“Why did you?” Philippa said shrewdly.
Something lit inside Alisoun, something she didn’t recognize until it spilled out as a flash of anger and spite. “You’ve got no father for that child, and you’re frightened and miserable. Do you want me to be like you?”
Philippa snatched Hazel up and hugged her against her chest while the baby struggled to get down.
Aghast at herself at once, Alisoun stammered, “I don’t know why I said that. It’s just—I always thought if I lived my life logically and organized well, I would have the life that I wanted. But I couldn’t have planned for what happened to you, and it’s made me examine myself and realize—” she plucked the cat off her shoulder and hugged it much as Philippa hugged her daughter, “—what I have are just things, and there’s no reason to care for them when there’s no one to enjoy the fruits.”
“Don’t cry!”
Alisoun hadn’t realized she was, but tears were dropping onto Tochi’s plants.
“Oh, Alisoun.” Holding Hazel, Philippa walked over on her knees and embraced her lady. “I wasn’t trying to upset you. It’s just that—”
“Well, I can’t. I can’t have a child. That’s unacceptable. But when I think about it, it just seems that…”
“I know.” Philippa wiped her nose on her sleeve. “I feel like that, too.”
Hazel squirmed between them and Alisoun gave her a tentative peck. The baby didn’t cry, so she gave her another one, then laid her head against the child’s sparse hair. The thin strands felt like silk beneath her cheek as Hazel leaned into her, and just for a moment she conjured up seditious thoughts. Thoughts of holding her own child and having it love her.
So foolish. So seductive. She mourned. “All our bright plans, all of our
youth, gone already, wasted—”
The gate swung open and the women sprang apart. Sir Walter walked in, a definite swagger to his step, and stopped at the sight of their tearstained faces. “Lady Alisoun?”
“We’re just helping Tochi with the weeding,” Alisoun said.
He surveyed the damage and politely said, “Of course.”
Alisoun looked around her and saw what he saw, but she made no apology. “Was there something you wanted?”
He didn’t smile, but something about the way he stood indicated his smug superiority. “I think there is something you should see.”
10
As Alisoun approached the training area, she asked, “Why are all these people lingering here, hanging on the fence, when they have work to do?”
With relish, Sir Walter said, “They’re having their eyes opened.”
Alisoun didn’t like that. She didn’t like Sir Walter’s attitude or the way he held her elbow as if she would try to escape. Stopping, she disengaged his fingers from her arm. “I can walk alone, I thank you, Sir Walter.”
“We’ll see, my lady.”
Then he strode on ahead and held the gate for her.
An open fence surrounded the training yard, built to retain the destriers in case a knight was unhorsed during an exercise. Alisoun entered with caution and looked around. Lady Edlyn and the house servants, the stableboys, and the washerwomen hung over the rails, all watching the scene unfolding before them with the same dazed, horrified expressions. Ivo stood with his arms crossed over his massive chest, disgust tying his forehead into a knot. Gunnewate leaned against the fence, picking at his few teeth and staring as if he couldn’t credit his eyes.
Alisoun followed their gazes and saw Hugh, her oldest, most talented squire, on his warhorse, facing Sir David and King Louis across the tilting run. Both men wore hauberks that glinted in the sun, and open-faced tilting helmets, and they held ash lances and great curved shields. They were waiting for the signal from Andrew, who seemed to be waiting for Sir Walter. When Sir Walter nodded, Andrew shouted and the men charged at each other.
Hooves pounded the beaten ground as their lances reached out. Alisoun held her breath as each made contact with the opposing shield. They squealed as they scraped, then David’s lance shattered in three places, and he lurched in the saddle. Hugh’s lance slid off David’s shield and caught him across the chest, knocking him off Louis. The spectators gasped as he landed on the ground with a clatter of armor.
He didn’t move.
Hugh leaped from his horse, handed the reins to Andrew, and ran toward David’s prone body. Louis skidded to a halt and trotted over to examine his master. Alisoun, too, started toward him.
No one else moved. Everyone just stared with vacant, disbelieving expressions, and she realized what had happened.
This wasn’t David’s first defeat by Hugh.
“He’s been here all the morning—on the ground, most of the time. His swordwork isn’t the equal of Hugh’s. He almost lost his head when Hugh swung a mace. And now he’s proved that his jousting is pathetic.” Sir Walter kept pace with her as she walked, and he didn’t bother to disguise the triumph in his tone. “The legend is dead. Sir David of Radcliffe is nothing but a washed-up, has-been failure.”
She wanted to hit Sir Walter. She wanted to take a lance herself and knock him heels over helm. Didn’t he realize what he had done?
Louis reached David first and sniffed him, then released a moist snort that made him flinch. Hugh arrived next and gently pushed the destrier away, then turned David over. David released a heartfelt groan, and Hugh muttered, “Praise the saints.”
Finally Alisoun knelt beside them and assisted Hugh in removing David’s headgear. His helmet had gashed the bare part of his cheek, and only the padded arming cap he wore had saved him from further cuts. His eyelids fluttered open and the black of his pupil had expanded to cover the brown. Then they reacted to the light and shrank, and Alisoun sighed with relief. “Is anything broken?” she asked him.
“Nothing of importance,” Sir Walter said.
Again she wondered—Didn’t he realize what he had done?
David took a few quick breaths before he replied. “Nay.” He closed his eyes as if the light hurt, then opened them again. “Maybe a rib. Bruising.” His gaze slid to Hugh. “Your patron saint…should be George.”
Hugh’s hands trembled as he helped Alisoun remove David’s gauntlets. “I beg your forgiveness, my lord. I never thought—”
“Say no more. You’re the best I’ve ever faced.”
David’s gasps between each word warned Alisoun of extensive and painful bruising on his chest. She stood and snapped her fingers.
Like stone figures brought to life, the spectators moved. The stablemaster sent his underlings for a plank on which to lift David. Mabel, Alisoun’s alewife, was also her best healer, and she hobbled into the training yard and knelt on the other side of David, asking him questions about his pains. Heath climbed the fence and ran toward Alisoun, begging for instruction, and Alisoun sent her into the keep to boil water for the poultices they would make. Lady Edlyn walked briskly toward the keep also, and Alisoun knew she had remembered her duties.
But no one spoke unnecessarily. No one teased David about his defeat. They could scarcely stand to look at him, and Alisoun could scarcely stand to look at Sir Walter.
Instead she looked at Philippa. Covered with the dirt of the garden, holding the baby, she presented a placid facade as she stood outside the fence, but Alisoun sensed the renewed fear that curled through her. Sensed it, because she felt it herself.
“’Tis as I suspected all along.” Sir Walter sought her attention. “’Tis the reason I requested your ‘legend’ assist me. No knight retains his abilities without constant diligence, and yon legend has not set foot in the training yard since his arrival. I surmised his command of his art—if ever, in truth, there was such command—had faded, and I could no longer bear to have you so deceived.”
Still Alisoun refused to meet his gaze. “Deceived? You no longer wished me to be deceived?”
Sir Walter spoke loudly enough for those around them to hear, and he even had the gall to rest a paternal hand on her shoulder. “I know it is painful, my lady, to find you’ve been made a fool of, but—”
At last she allowed herself to say the words which haunted her. “Don’t you realize what you have done?” She controlled her features, she controlled the volume of her voice, but nothing could stop the whiplash in her tone. “My people had thought themselves safe, protected by Sir David of Radcliffe. Now they’ll live in dread again, and rightly, for my enemy would hear of David’s failure, and reap the reward.”
Sir Walter’s hand fell away.
“Sir Walter, if you wish to remain at George’s Cross, stay out of my sight. I will do my duty. I always do my duty.” She looked up at him, this stupid knight with his jaw clamped tight and his eyes bulging. “And in the future, have faith that I will know what that duty may be.”
She turned her back on him, joining Mabel as she scolded David for trying to stand when he was clearly unfit. By the time they had placed David on the plank and lifted him, Sir Walter had disappeared.
David could have walked into the keep on his own two legs, but one look at Alisoun dissuaded him. She was going to throw him out as soon as he could leave, and humiliation already burned like a hot coal in his gut.
He’d been defeated. Again. The last time had been bad enough. It had been in front of the king and the court, and that pompous ass who proved himself David’s superior had ground every last, bitter admission of surrender from him. No one who had seen that combat came away thinking he had been anything but soundly scourged.
But this time! He’d been defeated by a snot-nosed youth who hadn’t even been knighted. Probably hadn’t been blooded. Who hadn’t even been born when David started his career. Defeated in front of every person in this castle. The shame made him want to curl up, to run away, to nev
er again look on their faces.
If it had been up to him, he’d stand, take Louis and leave, never looking back. But he couldn’t. His people, his daughter especially, depended on the coins his employment brought.
And he’d come to think, this last month, that Alisoun depended on him, too. Not just for defense, although his reputation—or his former reputation—had probably served her well. But because she was the loneliest woman he’d ever met, and she didn’t even know it. She kept so busy with her schedule that she’d never learned to laugh, to show affection, to have fun. The seasons defined her existence by the duties they imposed, not by the rhythm of life they sang, and he feared one day she would wake and realize that her youth had fled and she had nothing. Why he felt he should be the one to change that, he didn’t even understand. Maybe his old granny could have told him. All he knew was that he courted Alisoun for her lands, for her wealth, and for the rare jewel of her smile.
So he allowed the men to carry him on a plank up to his chamber and dump him, none too gently, on the bed. He didn’t restrain his groan at such rough handling, and he admired the scolding Alisoun gave them, but he didn’t imagine for a moment the crisis was past. He would have to think, and think fast. He had to do more than mourn the loss of his legendary status—a status he had scorned when he had it and missed bitterly now that it had vanished—to retain his advantage.
So he shut his eyes as they stripped him and listened for Alisoun to exclaim sympathetically about his bruises.
She didn’t. She didn’t say a word.
The alewife commanded that the men drag the table to the side of the bed so she would have somewhere to place her medicines, her bandages and warm water. She handled him rather briskly as she washed him, for she was a wise woman and knew he wasn’t hurt so badly. But the pain with each breath told him he had broken a rib, and she wrapped his chest tightly in linen strips.
Then she flung a light wool rug over him and left, and he was alone—so he thought.
Opening his eyes, he jumped. Alisoun stood close to the bed, staring at him. He couldn’t believe she had gotten so close and stood so quietly. Too quietly.